Unspoken Truths
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *crack, hints of GerIta and EngIta* Whenever England has a magic problem he can't solve, there's only one person he calls. And this time, the problem is of gigantic proportions. The world might not survive...
1. Chapter 1

**SOY:** I decided to post this thing here to see if I can help someone's brain explode. Please enjoy the first chapter!

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** the most you can see is a suggestive image, a lot of magic, and crack.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. I do not make money for writing about it, but I do have fun.

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**Unspoken Truths**

**Chapter 01**

At first, England had just learned to work through things by himself.

If one wanted to learn magic with no outer assistance, and only a bunch of faeries to help out (faeries that were more interested in shiny things than helping out, and that usually liked to play around), obviously he had to understand that things _could_ go wrong.

England knew that, but magic flew through his veins. He could not ignore its pull.

It wasn't that easy, with having to hide the random stampede of unicorns in the basement until all humans were out of sight, or with demanding ghosts being, well, demanding… but England managed it pretty well, all considered.

Also because after a while, he realized that some of his 'creatures' were invisible to normal people's eyes, and even those of his kind had a hard time noticing them.

Unfortunately, on certain occasions, even with enough time to go through his many tomes of magic, not even he could come through a way to undo his… he wouldn't call them mistakes, more like… well, incidents of sorts. As it was, these incidents happened, every now and then.

England had to bury them deep… somewhere, and try to forget about them.

Not even his huge knowledge of books could help, sometimes.

That was why that giant spider he had summoned once was still living in the caves of Galles, and had turned into a scary monster for the small village whose name he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

Same for the poor Manticore he had asked Norway to keep –the poor thing didn't have much to eat nowadays, but alas, England could do nothing about it.

Not to mention that poor, poor Scottish castle. Scotland, his older brother, still didn't know he had been the one to destroy it.

Even with his skills, things were not as easy as the books depicted them, and no real master of the Arts could be called one without a past of learning from mistakes.

Nobody had to know, nobody _needed_ to know, so why bother? They wouldn't understand –they would mock him, like France did despite his own ability to sometimes sense England's friends.

That was, of course, until the day England managed to make a diplomatic magical incident that he could _not_ hide. At all.

It was somewhere in the early eighteenth century, if he recalled correctly –he had been brewing his own kind of Ale beer, back then, angered at the fact that others kept calling his alcohol 'warm piss' and all that stuff…

And then, his brewing beer had turned into a mass of summoning charms, all because of… he wasn't sure, maybe a fly, or something, and… and without understanding how, he had the yard filled with an army of trolls (of the big kind –the armoured ones).

He had done the nice thing, offering them food in compensation, promising them he would send them back where they belonged, but no –they had raged against him, insulting his food and accusing him of attempted poisoning (his ears still flushed red in anger, thinking back about it).

Things didn't look fine at all.

Books had never bothered warning him about angered trolls wanting to kill your King and destroy your whole country!

That was exactly when England had received an unexpected, random visit that had turned out to be his saviour…

_**~Flashback~**_

"W–what am I going to do now?" England panicked, pushing the giant door close and feeling cold sweat roll down his chin.

How could that have happened?

He had an enraged army of huge trolls standing in the backyard of the castle, demanding to see the king, ready to fight to death…

And he had no way to send them back.

His books were blank on that matter –summoning trolls worked much like summoning demons, after all, and it meant that once they had fulfilled their deal, they were sent back.

Unfortunately, England had no idea how he had gotten them there, in the first place… he had meant to brew beer! How would he know?

Now he had to do something before his King noticed –no human so far knew about his dealings with dark magic (or magic in general, except a few) but since this was a bad period to do magic, he feared that not even revealing of his status as a Nation would help.

On the opposite, he had a rooted fear that it would be detrimental instead.

"Ve~?"

Gasping and turning around in shock, England found himself facing a young boy around thirteen years of age, dressed in the typical clothes of the time, holding a small block of paper under one arm and a stack of coal to draw in his hand.

He had a quite familiar face, but England, in his panicking state, could not for the life of him, recognise who he was.

"W–who are you?" he screeched, pointing a finger at the boy and paling considerably.

"Ve~ Arthur, you have a bad memory~"

The voice was that of a girl, though… high–pitched, loud… England frowned, noticing the curl bouncing on the side of the boy's head.

"Uh… I–Italy?"

England had only met Italy a few times before, mostly when France had been around to parade the young girl around ("_mon petit bonbon_~ _Italie, tu es très jolie_~ not like you, England, with your caterpillar eyebrows, _non_?"), but this was a boy, not a girl…

Or at least, the clothes were those of a boy, and the voice… the feminine face…

"_Sì_! I'm Italy, of course," the little… boy, girl, whatever… smiled, eyes close in a silly expression. "Ve~ I was visiting brother France, but he got all scary so I ran away, and here is so beautiful that I wanted to paint before returning to Austria's house…"

England was both pleased to hear the small… he'd go with girl for now, as Italy was a girl before, right, so she couldn't have changed sex… the small girl say that England's place was beautiful, and also terrified to have her see the trolls.

This was not a good moment.

"Eh, you can't stay here, shoo!" England stepped forwards, and Italy eeped in fear, backing away from him. "I–I mean, er, Italy… I have things to do, so go back to Francis' house, ok?"

The scared expression returned tenfold.

"Uh, no, _per favore_!" she pleaded, shaking her head. "He was so scary~ he had me read a book and said he wanted to have 'intercourse' with me! I don't get it, but he was scary, ve~"

England's face turned slightly violet at that, and a shiver ran down his back. Truthfully, a voracious France was scary for him too, at times.

He glanced at the teen, shaking his head. "Ah… c–can't you just go back to Austria's house then?"

"Uh, he gave me the whole day~ if I go back now, I'll have to go back to work and it'll be a waste~ come on, Arthur~" Italy pleaded, using England's name as leverage. "I'll be quiet and I'll stay in the front garden to paint~"

England really couldn't resist the cute face, but the trolls… "uh, no, better if you come inside… I'll offer you some tea, but it's better if you stay in for now…"

With a shrug, Italy followed him inside, looking in amazement at the various beautiful paintings, the statues and the armours that England had in the castle.

England kept looking back at him, the question whether Italy was a boy or a girl itching in the back of his mind, yet he didn't want to seem uncouth, so he kept silent. Once they got in England's room, he had Italy sit on a chair and awkwardly patted his head.

"Ve~?"

"I'll go… I'll bring tea up, please don't leave the room, ok? It might be… dangerous for you, little Italy".

"Feliciano, ve~" Italy replied, swinging his legs whilst looking around, fingers twitching as he opened his sketchbook, ready to draw something.

'… _ah. That answers my question, indeed…' _England blinked.

With that, he closed the door of his room, locking it just in case, and ran down the castle's halls, hoping against hope that the army of trolls had remained outside without venturing in… it would be hard to explain, of course, but if they kept to the forest around the castle, sure he could think about something, and…

He looked outside one of the windows, and paled.

A small embassy of the trolls was climbing the protective walls of the castle, almost reaching where the guards were standing…

England widened his eyes, running towards them and muttering curses under his breath.

For the following two hours, he ran around the castle, somehow managing to block all the trolls, one way or the other, but their leader was adamant –he wanted war, and he would not care about whatever England had to say.

He was in utter despair, and didn't know what to do anymore –he had no time to check his books for information, and there again, none of those had helped till now.

The trolls were impervious to many spells and charms because of their sturdy skin and enhanced armours, and magic breezed past over them without much effect…

There was going to be war, and it was all his fault, and then his King would kill him and…

"Ve~"

Freezing in shock, England turned around and watched in horror as Italy bounced towards him, eyes noticing the trolls (especially the one that was holding the sword against England, pointed at his chest) and actually widening, brown irises staring at them in wonder.

"Ah, Ita… Feliciano, this is not… why are you out of my room?" England hurried towards him, about to push him away (he had no time to babysit! Stupid Italian…), but Italy evaded his outstretched arms and smiled at the trolls.

His eyes were a bit darker than usual, strangely focused, one hand twitching on England's arm as he turned around.

"You should have told me you had problems with trolls, ve~" Italy looked at him with a pout, his tone really low "I could have helped~ silly Arthur!"

"Eh?"

Much to England's shock, the young Italian Nation stepped forwards, looking at the gigantic troll with a conciliating smile. "Hello~" skipping to them, directing towards the boss of the group. "Ve, war is not good when you are hungry, don't you think~ I'll cook you something first, and not that icky food Arthur offered you! It's real Italian food! It's yummy!"

Each word punctuated with a small wave of his hand, in motions England recognized only after the third time –a sort of magic compulsion spell– and had him gasp loudly, shocked.

The little Italian… knew magic?

England could do nothing but stare in shock as Italy directed the trolls down the corridor, before following them as well.

_**~End Flashback~**_

And Italy really did help.

In less than fifteen minutes, he had speed–cooked something for the trolls (much to England's shock, the embassy had happily munched on them, forgetting all about war and revenge), and then, with the group looking woozy and unsteady on their feet, he had sketched inverse summoning circles under their feet, anchoring the circles to the trolls still outside the castle, waiting in the forest…

And then he had activated them, banishing the entire army away. Just like that.

Something that England had not been able to do. At all.

Italy could see creatures –he'd been able to see the Unicorns around England, and also the green flying thing that the Englishman had mistakenly summoned one day and that had never abandoned his side.

He could also do magic –of a vaguely different kind, but magic nonetheless.

Offering England his help with settling down a few other mista… accidents had been the following step, and it was amazing to watch the younger nation cuddle the giant spider instead of being afraid of it, and then storing a bit of its poison before dispelling it away into nothingness.

Same with the cute Manticore, except Norway had been a bit sad to see it gone.

Scotland's castle had no way to be rebuilt, though. Almost unfortunate, but England wasn't that guilty about that either.

Ever since then, England had gladly called Italy for help whenever something regarding magic came up, and he had no way of solving it with his knowledge or books.

It was not that the Italian had stronger magical powers that England had –actually, Italy had been tinkering with magic less than England– or that he had more ancient books, or practice, or skills…

But the Italian Nation had a different way at approaching magical stuff, that left England wondering which one of them would actually come out as winner if they were to battle.

He thought things in a different way –he was more inventive than England, as the Englishman followed books, since adding his own to the spells often worked against him (hence his incidents), whilst Italy had a knack at adding a bit of his own, meddling with the spells, the potions and mixing things together when he needed it without complications arising.

For one, he kept his magic down, and that was why England had never felt it when they had met before. England didn't bother hiding his own, because no one else could feel it, or so he thought.

Then, he never actually _did_ magic, unless it was to help England out –how _did_ he get so good, with no practice?

And his creative way to use spells and potions… England would have never known about him using salt and a mix of herbs for the cookies he gave to the trolls if Italy hadn't told him.

"_Ve, but it was obvious to me~" _the Italian Nation had stated, tilting his head left and right. _"If they are impervious to magic from the outside, hit them from the inside, ve~"_

Whenever England did one of his incidents, those he couldn't fix, he called Italy.

When the dragons, clearly bothered by something England had done, had attacked in the north of China (actually, Yao was still wondering about that, but Arthur had no intention to explain it to him), Italy had been the one to focus his magic onto them, making them vomit water instead.

He had demanded England some of his best herbs afterwards.

When he had somehow obliterated part of Buckingham Palace on a hot summer day, Italy had promptly dropped everything to come and fix it (England was still wondering how the hell he had managed to do that).

Italy had asked some cookies for that.

When England had been drunk out of his mind and had somehow substituted the Museum of Arts in London with a bottomless pit from which sulphuric fire came out, Italy was the one to cover it up and call the museum back into its place, without asking questions.

Italy had left with a small bag filled with Unicorn hair.

When England had somehow transformed America into a small baby not once, but thrice over the course of the first World War, Italy had grudgingly helped him out, shaking his head and shrugging it away with promise from England to be fed with good pasta afterwards.

Italy happily helped him out, after all these incidents only happened with a low frequency –one every month or two, sometimes even going as far as one every five to six months.

Besides, since Norway was busy fending off attacks from a determined Denmark (attacks regarding his Vital Regions), Italy was the only remaining nation that England could talk to in regards to magical creatures.

It helped that Italy was terribly against other Nations knowing about him, for a different reason than England himself.

"Ve~ it would be a bother if brother France knew I do magic~" Italy had stated, eyes close as he poured a mix of lotus juice on England's wand. " or the others. Don't you agree?"

Indeed, England had to give it to the silly nation that was bad at war yet amazingly sly when it came to magic –he had been hiding his power partly because of just how much others made fun at him, and partly because it was better if not many knew of it.

Once realised how deep Italy's knowledge of magic was (England had extracted that information through long sessions of strict questioning), the English Nation had decided that forming a friendly bond with him was the way to go.

Asking for help was mainly what that friendship consisted of.

At first through short letters.

"_Dear Feliciano,_

_How is the weather at your house? I heard you finally turned independent, congratulations! You might have heard news of how the King's treasure room was emptied by thieves… in truth, I think I was a bit too drunk that night, and somehow turned all the gold in the room into feathers._

_I hope that, despite how busy you will surely be as you move into your house, you will find some time to get here…_

_Sincerely, Arthur K."_

Letters that turned into telegrams during the first world war.

"_Feliciano –stop– hydra slashing in my basement –stop– urgently in need of help –stop– thank you –stop– Arthur K."_

Then there was the phone.

"_Feliciano, I have a small problem with a Cerberus roaring outside of my –go away, you Hell fiend! Stop munching on my carpet!"_

"… _ve~ I'll come straight away, Arthur…"_

The phone was really a great help. Even during the second world war, when they were technically on opposite sides, magic was considered neutral grounds.

"_Feliciano, I think there is a Banshee on the rooftop of my neighbour's house…"_

"_ve~ you think?"_

"_I might have… upset her somehow"._

"_Somehow…?"_

"_I might have… cut her hair whilst levelling my hedges…"_

"… _I see… I'll be over there in a hour or so"._

Of course, there were times even Italy didn't want to help. These times, England had just to suck it up.

"_Feliciano… I think I just summoned Ivan's head in my basement! That git won't go away!"_

"_V–ve~ A–Arthur! D–don't call if it's him! U–uwaaa! He's so scary! S–seal the basement!"_

Internet had been terribly helpful. Not as immediate if Italy was not online, of course, but still good for piling up smaller requests that he could postpone. Sometimes.

'_You received a new mail from Arthur Kirkland (bloody_.uk) – subject: running leprechauns in backyard._

_Dear Feliciano,_

_I made a drunken bet with a Leprechaun and now they are living in my backyard, hunting for gold, and if I show my face, they start a creepy dance and I've lost my left eyebrow already by one of their attacks. I would appreciate your help, but take your time._

_Cordially yours, Arthur Kirkland'_

Nowadays, England had gathered enough skills and experience to be able to solve almost everything, and the calls or mails were rarer (once every year, if things went well and the faeries didn't act up).

Unfortunately, a night of drinking alcohol always happened at the worst of times…

Which brings us to the current setting, and why England was hiding in his bathroom, back against the door, trembling, cursing under his breath as he quickly dialled Italy's number on the phone, hoping that the Italian nation was already awake.

"Come on, you _bloody_ lazy arse! Pick up the phone!" he hissed on the receiver, closing his eyes and holding still the wiggling green flying bunny so that it wouldn't make noise.

"Arthur? Are you in the bathroom, Arthur?"

He froze, eyes snapping open at the familiar voice on the other end of the door. There was a soft scratching sound from outside, then a rapping noise.

England refused to allow a sob to pass through his lips. This was hell. Why did he accept Prussia and America's offer to drink all night? Why hadn't he refused? Why did he say yes, right after having fought with that Dark Faerie about why her dress was not that cute?

Oh, gods, this was bad. This was really bad. He could not fix this alone. He needed…

"Is that you, Artie? Answer me, won't you?"

A trickle of sweat rolled down his chin, and England started praying.

The phone kept ringing, no one picked up.

'_I need to get there –this time, if Italy can't help, I'm doomed…'_

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** so, that's it for the first chapter, I hope you liked! ^^

_mon petit bonbon_~ _Italie, tu es très jolie_~ (French) – my little candy~ Italy you're so nice/cute~

_non_ (French) - not

_Sì_ (Italian) - yes

_Per favore_ (Italian) - please


	2. Chapter 2

**SOY:** I decided to post a new chapter of this one before finishing up 'shot of honesty', I hope you like ^^ I am still not sure how many chapters of this one there will be, but you can expect around 5.

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** the most you can see is a suggestive image, a lot of magic, and crack.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. I do not make money for writing about it, but I do have fun.

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**Unspoken Truths**

**Chapter 02**

"Feliciano, your phone is ringing," Germany's eyes were glued on Italy's frame as the Italian moved through the bedroom with only Germany's shirt on.

Since Italy's built was lither than that of the German Nation, the shirt hung loose on his hips, offering an amount of modesty that the Italian man didn't really have or need.

Still, the sight kept Germany's gaze unable to shift away from him, especially when Italy knelt down to retrieve a sock that had somehow ended up underneath the desk; as it was, Germany had no desire to have Italy focus on other things, but the ringing of that phone was irritating.

"Ve~?"

"The phone, Feliciano," he repeated, pressing one hand on his forehead and rubbing it.

Sometimes the Italian Nation's denseness granted to his nerves, yet he couldn't but forgive him for that, if he kept that shirt on for a bit more. Not that he cared.

Or wanted to watch a bit more. Not at all.

"Oh, but I'm searching for my clothes, why don't you answer for me?" Italy wriggled the toes of his naked foot and looked around, hopping on his other leg and giving Germany a nice view of his tights as he did so.

Germany still refused to look away, despite the strong blush.

He groped around on the bed with one hand, _still_ not looking away, and was grateful he hadn't when Italy toppled over on the ground, shirt riding up and leaving his naked ass free to Germany's prying gaze.

Flushing crimson and yet not willing to look away, Germany hummed and finally grabbed the vibrating phone, flickering it open and finally having to steer his attention away from Italy (now kneeling under the bed for his shirt) to look at the screen.

"Feliciano, it's Arthur," Germany looked up, still unsure whether to answer or not.

He noticed Italy stiffening for a split second, but that moment the phone went silent. Italy resurfaced with his shirt in his hands and pouted.

"If he calls again, give me the phone, ve~" Italy revealed his naked front to Germany, still not taking out the bigger shirt, and Germany shut the phone close, leaning forwards to offer it to Italy…

Only to have an armful of Italian, his nose filled with the sweet scent of Italy's shampoo.

"Morning hug, Ludwig!"

Shaking his head to clear it from less than pure thoughts (that he did _not_ have), Germany obliged the other by holding him close, feeling Italy shift until he was sitting on him.

The phone started ringing again, and Italy tried to roll off to answer, but Germany's hands refused to let go.

"Ve~ I have to answer… it might be important, ve~"

Germany snorted –he refused to think that anything involving England could be about pasta or siesta, which seemed to be the only important things for Italy, but let Italy go, berating himself for the silly act of possessiveness.

It was either he turned honest with Italy, or… well, with himself. Neither was going to happen anytime soon.

"Ve~ Arthur?" something passed through Italy's gaze, then he removed the phone from his ear, eyes blinking open. "Arthur, is that the noise of a door breaki– Arthur?"

Germany frowned, feeling a headache coming.

What was the Englishman doing?

"Uh… what… what is happening, Feliciano?" his thoughts coming to a halt, Germany hoisted Italy's body away from his lap, much to Italy's displeasure. "Why would Arthur call you at this time?"

Now that he thought about it, why did England have Italy's phone number? That he knew about, the two didn't have much interaction, and the one they had was mediated by their bosses, or through some other Nation.

Somehow, despite the notion being stupid, Germany found himself offended that England knew and used Italy's number.

Italy looked quite puzzled now, and tilted his head to the side. "I don't know, Ludwig…"

"… is America there with him?" Germany felt a blush touch his cheeks, and fought it valiantly. This was growing quite embarrassing. "Maybe he called you by mistake…"

Italy frowned, looking at the phone with a strange look, but since there was no reply from the other end, he clicked it shut and shrugged.

"Ve~ I'm hungry, can I get my breakfast now?"

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Germany led the way to the kitchen, followed by a still partially naked Italy.

It was shocking how familiar that was to him –a naked Italy sleeping in his bed even now, waking up together, eating together…

"_Cornetti alla crema~_"

Well, at least it was not pasta.

As Germany gathered up the necessary for a morning coffee, Italy glanced back at his phone, frowning. England only called for two reasons –to bitch about France and to ask for help with… _these_ matters. It was usually the second, though.

Maybe he–

"Feliciano, the milk".

Shrugging, Italy bounced towards the fridge, knowing that if England really needed help, he would call again. No need to worry.

…–…–…–…

England was flying.

And by flying, he didn't mean on a plane. No, that was reserved for the meetings, when he had actually some time to waste.

Not that he didn't like flying with a plane. It was calm. And comfortable. And unless he ended up sitting close to the Frog eater, he even managed to relax enough to not be in a pissed off mood afterwards.

But England didn't have time right now, and he was aware that somewhere back at his house, in London, someone was searching for him.

So, England was flying. On top of a horse.

Not a flying horse, per se. just one of his unicorns.

Well, then, maybe he wasn't flying –he was gliding through the air, because unicorns didn't really fly, either.

Technicalities, yet his brain could only focus on those insignificant, stupid details because if he thought back at what he'd left at home, his head attempted short–circuiting, and that was no good.

He had to keep calm.

He'd been through worse things.

The dragons in China, yes.

And the trolls. You could never forget an army of trolls ready to slice you in small pieces.

Then there was the small little incident with golems –not that he had wanted to create any.

And the Manchester United soccer team. _That_ had been a huge problem…

But no, this was way worse.

When Italy finally picked up the phone, England had barely enough time to whisper a greeting before the door was pulled free from its hinges, and England's biggest mistak… incident since the trolls appeared in its place.

He had managed to get away only barely, but who knew what that… that horror could do without anything to stop him?

Never in his life did he do something as horrifying as _that_.

England felt a sudden cold sensation flow through his body and turned around, frightened –yet there was nothing behind him. He was flying above the ocean, and in front of him he could already see the coasts of France, so it was impossible that what he had left back home could be there…

Shivering, he patted his unicorn's back, muttering words of encouragement as the unicorn dived down, coming closer to the ground.

"Faster, if you don't mind…" he gently asked whilst the mythical animal grazed the top branches of a tall pine.

The unicorn sped up his fly… his _gliding_ through the air, England blissfully unaware that down below, France had just looked up at the morning sky, ready to start another day of harassing nations (a beautiful, beautiful day), and his brain melted at the sight of England sitting on nothing but air whilst passing through the sky.

France pressed one hand on the wall of his house, and the other against his forehead.

"_Oh, mon Dieu_… I need to lay off the wine…"

…–…–…–…

"Groceries~ groceries~" Italy bounced happily on the street, moving from one window to the other and waiting for Germany to catch up with him.

The German Nation was moving slowly through the Italian open–air market, glancing at the many fruits and vegetables offered with a look of contemplation, ignoring how various vendors tried to attract his attention, offering him shoes, fishes, cheese or underwear.

He truly couldn't understand how Italy could do it.

"Feliciano, wait for me –don't run!"

Humming, Italy easily ignored Germany's shouts and concentrated on some tomatoes, expertly checking if they were mature enough to be bought –with a nod to the vendor, he also pointed at a few eggplants.

"We don't need those" Germany grunted, already mentally counting the money he would waste. "We can buy an already prepared sauce, and–" he faltered at the affronted glare he received from the Italian, and looked to the side shrugging.

Groceries shopping was quick and painless, despite Germany's fears of losing Italy in the crowd, or having to buy many things they didn't need (nowadays, they never bought things separately, it was always groceries shopping for them both), and he was quite thankful about that…

Until they finally left the last stand, ready to go back home.

Italy was swinging the bags, singing a happy, Italian tune that Germany didn't know, skipping a bit as he walked down the street, then…

"Ve~?"

Germany had been listing the things he needed to do once back home –concentrate on his work, leave Italy to cook, check up on him every now and then to make sure he wasn't burning down the house…– and was startled out from his thoughts by Italy's exclamation.

He glanced at the Italian, who was gawking up at the sky with a slight frown, and also looked upwards, frowning…

And turned pale.

There was England flying.

Well, to be truthful, he wasn't _flying_. He was sitting on empty air and he was floating down –fast.

Germany promptly looked back down at the ground, taking deep gulps of air as he felt the sting of ulcer pain (stress–induced) made itself known again; closing his eyes, he refused to think about what he had just seen, and instead started his own personal mantra to convince himself that no England had just popped up in midair, floating down towards them.

England couldn't float. On thin air. Definitely not.

"Feliciano!"

"V–ve!" Italy stepped backwards, eyes wide, as England hopped down from the unicorn, making his way towards him "Arth–"

"Thanks God I found you! Your house was empty!"

England allowed relief to wash over him as he grabbed Italy's hands into his own, smiling at the panicking Italian.

"Ve~ I came here for groceries with Ludwig… why did you call? Why are you here?"

Germany's rational mind had in the meanwhile managed to supply a possible explanation to the scene (_England had popped around uninvited. Not flying. Not floating. He just walked here from his house, that was all_), and was now glaring at the Englishman.

First, he called Italy early in the morning. Then he presented himself searching for Italy, and even hugged him? Germany's left eye twitched, and he fought valiantly against the sudden desire to push the Englishman away from Italy.

Then England screamed the last words Germany had ever thought he would hear from anyone in the world.

"Feliciano! I need your help!"

There was a long pause.

It was so long that geological eras could have been born and died out in the meanwhile. It was so long that Germany had enough time to restart his brain and wonder if he was turning insane.

England. Asking help to Italy.

The world was truly coming to an end?

"Ve~ Arthur, I don't know what you're talking about!" Italy waved his hand around, his smile signalling the Englishman that since there was someone else present, he couldn't talk.

Which was strange, since England was even more cautious than Italy was, with _these_ things.

"No, Feliciano, I'm not kidding! I really need your help! You're the only one who can do this! I'm… bloody hell, I'm not joking!"

Casting an offended glance at England, Italy turned towards Germany, smile turning vaguely strained. "Ve~ he's not making sense, right Ludwig?"

Growling under his breath, England clenched his hold on Italy's hands, making him gasp and try to tug them away. Of course England didn't allow him to. Besides, holding them provided him a bit of reassurance, as Italy's presence regarding magic always did.

"Feliciano, I messed up again!" cheeks burning in shame, he looked to the side. He was never proud of his mistakes, but this one… this one… "come and fix it, or it'll be truly dangerous for everybody!"

Germany cleared his throat, unable to do much else.

He felt like he was in the middle of a badly orchestrated joke…

"You're the only one who can fix him! I tried everything to revert the spell, but I really don't remember what I did! I called out my magic and…" he snapped his fingers "and now you have to help!"

"V–ve~ Arthur, what are you saying? Magic?" despite his attempts at calming England down, Italy couldn't stop himself from looking at the English Nation with a pout.

What the hell was he doing? making Germany, of all people, aware that he was into magic? After all these years trying to hide it?

Every nation knew that England dabbed into magic, whether they chose to believe it existed or not (whether they thought England to be joking or not, too), but Italy had always blissfully remained outside of that. And he liked that status very much, thank you.

"Bollocks! This is not the time to hide! There's a real problem here, and I _can't_ solve it!"

Well, he did look desperate.

Pushing England away from the German nation, Italy glared at him, feeling offended and affronted "Ve~ Arthur! Shut up! Nobody is supposed to know I do this kind of thing!" concluding his angered huff with a slap at England's shoulder, Italy turned towards Germany, ready to go back to him and wave the matter away; he was sure that this could wait.

England shook his head, eyes wide.

"Feliciano!" he grabbed his hand again, making the Italian turn towards him, still vaguely angered. "Undo the spell! I beg of you!"

"Arthur~" glancing at Germany (who was trying his best not to look like he was listening to them, and failing), then back at England, Italy suddenly realised that if the latter had revealed everything without thinking it twice, it meant things were not as simple as he thought them to be.

"… how bad?" he asked, sighing.

"Really bad" England confirmed, shivering. "That's why I came here…"

"Were you attacked, ve~?"

"I was –I had trouble coming here alive, but thankfully Mr. Sparkly here helped out" England patted the unicorn's back, who let out a soft snort.

To Germany, England just patted the air. But Germany wasn't really trying to follow up things at this point. He was merely trying to find a sense (_any_ sense) to it. And failing.

A twitch "wait, you called him Mr. Sparkly? Arthur–"

"T–this is not the time to go into a tirade about names!" cheeks aflame again, England was almost tempted to push the Italian nation away and be done with it, but of course this was not the time for pleasantries of any type.

"Let me… get this straight" Germany just had to reason things out. He just _needed_ to. If nothing made sense anymore, his whole world was ready to collapse on itself. "We all know how you think you're tinkering with magic, Arthur" at the word 'tinkering', England let out an enraged yelp "but… what does that have to do with Feliciano?"

"Feliciano has been 'tinkering with magic', as you put it, just as long as I have!" jutting his nose upwards, England sniffed in disdain. Despite his shame for his own mistakes, he would never back down from defending the Italian nation. "And he is just as good as I am" he helpfully added.

Italy's cheeks flushed red at the compliment, and he fidgeted, muttering a soft 've' sound. "Nobody is supposed to know about that, though" he huffed out, still vaguely angered yet a bit more appeased after the compliment.

Germany's eyes narrowed, yet he pushed down the rage and simply chose to concentrate on the shock of knowing Italy did magic.

He didn't believe in magic, of course. So Italy was just… what? Playing around? With England? Maybe even 'seeing invisible creatures' as well?

The idea of England and Italy sharing something like this made him feel uneasy.

"Feliciano does… magic" he muttered. "I really want to see this".

If he had to make it look like he believed them in order to follow them (not wanting Italy alone with the Englishman!), well, then he'd do it. He really wanted to see what England would invent then.

"V–ve~ but you're not supposed to know that! _Nobody_ is supposed to know!" Italy cried out, clearly disappointed in England's actions.

Germany snorted.

"The world wouldn't believe it, either" he muttered.

England took on an affronted look. "You should all know better!"

"The world isn't ready to know about magic, ve~" Italy looked both oddly serious and terribly antsy. England snorted in agreement, feeling somewhat superior to Germany. "The world doesn't need to know…" a pause "about a lot of things, ve~"

By the way he said it, it was clear that a lot of those things were not as good as it seemed. England also appeared to know about what Italy was saying, because he flushed and fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I didn't really _want_ to destroy Gupta's house whilst researching on his magic" he grumbled under his breath. "Now, will you follow me? I fear what will happen if he remains uncontrolled!"

"He?"

England's cheeks coloured again. "I might have… uh, well, pissed off a Dark Faerie," Italy's eyes turned a shade darker at that "and then I went out to drink with Gilbert and Alfred…"

Italy looked close to slamming his head on a wall –a look that Germany saw as familiar, since he had it all the time when dealing with Italy's own stupidity.

"What _happened_, Arthur?"

Not answering, England pointed at Mr. Sparkly, waiting for Italy to sit on him. Italy stared at the unicorn dubiously.

He had never really liked riding on them, despite what England himself said…

Italy shook his head and waved one hand around. Snapping his fingers to the side in a practiced way, he looked to the side. "It's better if I get my own ride, Arthur, if it's _really_ that important…"

"I'm coming too" Germany stated, eyes narrowed in determination.

He might not truly believe that England's magic was real, and he might not believe that Italy also knew how to do it (how could that be possible? Italy had to be truly good at hiding things, then), but England's despair looked quite real.

And if there was something dangerous, Germany was the perfect one to sort things out. Whilst at the same time not letting those two alone together. Which was imperative, too.

"No!" England shook his head, despite knowing that maybe brute strength could help keeping the danger at bay until Italy finally solved the problem.

Italy turned towards Germany, and pointed towards the empty air at England's side. "Only if you ride the unicorn, ve~"

"Feliciano, there is no u–"

There was a loud roar, then something flickered into existence at Italy's side. There was no better way to explain it, because one moment there was nothing, and the next a huge, proud lion was crouching low, and Italy was mounting him.

A lion.

Germany blinked, but the image didn't disappear.

A winged lion. Or, a lion with white wings on his back.

"I–impossible!" he yelled.

Germany also had no time to think and rationalise what he saw, because England rushed towards him and pushed him forwards; he found himself hoisted onto thin air, and his eyes turned wide when he realised that there was something invisible and _consistent_ under his chest, which prevented him from falling face–down on the ground, and that it was _sailing through the air_–

At his side, Italy was already soaring upwards on the back of his winged lion (a part of Germany's mind recognised it as being Venice's own symbol, obviously lacking a book), giggling at his flabbergasted expression.

England snorted, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, stupid German… hold yourself properly, you're hurting my poor Mr. Sparkly".

"Ve! Ludwig cannot see him, Arthur~ he's pulling a Thestral scene!"

"Stop quoting my books, you git!"

Germany closed his eyes. The nausea lessened to an amount –keeping them close so that he wouldn't see he was flying on top of something invisible really helped.

"It would be better to just tell me what happened, ve~" Italy returned his attention to England once he made sure Germany wouldn't fall. "Stop skidding around the matter, ve~"

Wincing, England recomposed himself. Dread filled him once more.

"I did a swap" he finally grumbled out, hoping that the air rushing into their ears would cut him off.

It didn't.

"You did _what_?"

"I somehow… swapped Natalia's attitude with that of Alfred, ok? Bloody hell!" England gritted his teeth. "Alfred's been trashing my house with a knife, yelling he wants to bloody 'marry' me, and he didn't take my 'no' as a satisfyingly answer".

Silence surrounded him like a blanket. England gulped down his uneasiness and looked onwards, refusing to look at the Italian nation.

"V–v–_**veeee**_~?"

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY**

_Cornetti alla crema (Italian)_ – it's a kind of sweet. A pastry, I mean. Cream–filled pastry. *nodnod*

_Mon Dieu (French)_ – My God.


	3. Chapter 3

**SOY:** it has been a while since I last posted a chapter for this particular fic, but I thought it was about time I did. Please enjoy!

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** the most you can see is a suggestive image, a lot of magic, and crack.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. I do not make money for writing about it, but I do have fun.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Unspoken Truths**

**Chapter 03**

It took the Italian Nation a couple of seconds to come out of his stupor caused by England's words, and by then they were already flying above the borders between France and Italy.

"It shouldn't be hard to revert a body s–swap! Why did you call me?" Italy fidgeted on top of his lion, shivering.

"Because it's _not_ a body swap! It's an _attitude_ swap! Alfred is still Alfred, but he acts like Natalia!" England coaxed his unicorn to float faster. "He's still as strong as he was before, but his fixation isn't with me only –when I tried running, I heard him phone–calling Matthew, and…"

"I want to go back, ve~" Italy looked to the side, patting the head of his flying lion, but it roared at him, huffing out and refusing to turn around. "V–ve? You can't disobey! N–Natalia is scary!"

"You have to help me!" England forced Mr. Sparkly to shift closer to the Italian; the abrupt movement made Germany, who was still lying sideways on the unicorn's back, grunt in uneasiness, his hands grasping at the 'nothingness' underneath him hoping not to fall.

And just in case, repeating _'I believe in flying invisible unicorns'_ in his mind. With his world upside down, he could do as much.

"B–but how did it happen?" Italy trembled and shook his head wildly. "I thought I had told you not to try magic… _any_ magic… when drunk! You _know_ things like these happen! V–ve~"

England flushed and looked to the side, clearing his throat in shame. "It's hard to remember that when you're actually drunk, Feli!"

Germany's eyes snapped open as England's words penetrated his foggy brain. Just what did England call Italy again…?

"You bring your wand when you know you're going to drink yourself under the table!" Italy fidgeted and glared over at the English nation. "Wouldn't it be simpler if you could just let it at home?"

England's cheeks turned even redder. "I…" he knew Italy was right, but… how could he leave the wand at home?

"_Ho capito, ho capito_, " the Italian Nation murmured, glancing at the embarrassed England with what he hoped was reassurance. "I'll… I'll try to help you, ve~ n–now, tell me what happened, please?"

England bit his lower lip. He could barely remember what he did, yet…

_**~Flashback~**_

"–an' _that's_ why Helge's curl floats… hic!"

England looked up from his empty glass and stared at where Denmark was. He didn't know _which_ one of the two Denmarks had spoken, but it had to be one of them, for sure. It wasn't the alcohol speaking, either. Though, they were both smirking as though having accomplished something splendid.

With a grunt, the Englishman shrugged and snapped his fingers at the bartender, making a vague signal that he wanted a refill.

"T–that's all bullsh… –hiiiit" Prussia wailed from his corner, holding up his beer and sloshing it around, so most of the liquid inside the glass fell all over his lap. He laughed at his own messiness. "Yah cannot prooooove it!"

England didn't really remember when Denmark had joined them. At first, it was just himself, America–stupid and Prussia–imbecile (_'heehee, funny names. Haha, the Great British Empire will show them where they can shove it!'_), then the Nordic Idiot had popped around to mess things up.

Though by then England had already gotten wasted, so…

Somehow, the thing had progressed from America and Denmark being all buddy–buddy to them trying to publicly shame someone they knew, which in America's case was Canada, and in Denmark's was Norway.

Not that England had been listening, of course –he knew enough of Norway to fill up a few (magic) books, and he was there mostly to get drunk out of his mind– and he didn't care about shaming someone!

He wanted to boast! He was the great Empire of Britain and Northern Ireland! He'd done a lot of awesh… hawe… aw'sshum things as well!

Like the time he summoned the trolls!

Urr, wait… England pressed one hand on the table, trying to get his fumbled thoughts to turn coherent. No, he had summoned the trolls, but it had been Italy the one to chase them away.

Ok, that didn't count then.

Boast about Italy would be cute! Italy _was_ cute. Cute eyes. Silly but cute. Bouncing curl, bouncing, bouncing…

Helpful when England needed him about magic. Scared away during the war.

Bouncing!

England's mind slowed down, busy picturing a bouncing curl.

But no, he couldn't boast about Italy, because the flying giraffe said he shouldn't tell others about magic. No, wait, not the giraffe, but Italy. Flying Italy?

Ooh, yes, flying! Britannia Angel!

"I fly" he stated proudly, and was ignored.

America and Prussia were singing together now, and England groaned, downing his newest glass in one go. It helped, because when he stood up, he knew exactly what he was going to boast about.

"I can make Roshia ob–_oblige_ me!"

That had made the other three turn around to stare at him in shock. England pushed his chest out and smirked, nodding to himself.

Yes, that was perfect.

Puh–rrr–fect.

America stumbled forwards, grasping England's shoulder to keep himself up, and glared into his eyes.

"_Liar_," he had hiccupped. "N'body can make Ivan _oblige_ 'em!"

"It's nut _oblige_, it's o–oh… _obligate_!" Denmark interjected intelligently.

"Whut–ever," England waved his hand around, and blinked when a rain of alcohol hit his head. He stared at the hand holding his drink and realised he'd been waving that one around.

He chuckled.

"Show me!" Prussia demanded, standing up. "I won't believe you!"

England rolled up his sleeves, taking his wand out from a pocket, together with some chalk he kept around all the time, and smirked.

He would show them how he made Russia _obligate_!

_**~End Flashback~**_

"… and that's it," he muttered, looking to the side.

Italy remained completely silent. "You said you'd make Russia… _obey_ you?"

"Well, I was completely wasted!" England reacted, clenching his hold on Mr. Sparkly' fur. The Unicorn reacted with a snort and a glare.

"That doesn't mean you can boast around about _that_! You know Ivan is mostly impervious to magic, ve~!"

"I know! But… I did summon his head, once!"

"And you closed the basement with cement! With Ivan inside!"

"He did come out of it, eventually…" with a shrug, England straightened up on Mr. Sparkly, wondering why they were taking so much to get to his house, rather embarrassed.

"For a week, Arthur! A _week_! And you don't even know how he got free!"

"I… ah! There it is!"

Completely relieved, England made Mr. Sparkly lower to the ground right in front of his house; it looked eerily calm, and the English Nation shivered, snapping his fingers as he jumped down from the back of his friend.

The unicorn nodded and disappeared.

Germany, who had noticed the ground was finally close again, had no time to get off from Mr. Sparkly, and fell right on his face, meeting closely with the ground he'd missed so much.

"Ve~ everything seems normal…" Italy glanced around, cracking his knuckles. "You can go now, I don't think I'll need you anymore," he turned to his Lion, who flapped his huge wings once before roaring in response.

Seconds later, he disintegrated in the air, the particles forming the shape of an open book before closing and vanishing.

"Ok, ve~ you don't remember what you did to swap things, but if you boasted about controlling Ivan, it means you started with a magic circle," Italy took out a thin wand from somewhere, pointing it at the ground. "Let's find Alfred first to see the extent of your magic, I might be able to scan his body and recognise the spell!"

Germany stood up, shaking, and coughed into his hand. You couldn't say he was converted, but…

"What can I do to help?" he asked, also looking around. He had the feeling things were going to get quite problematic soon enough.

"Ve~ Ludwig will protect me, right? If Alfred is scary!"

For some reason Italy's words made Germany's bad mood disappear, and he stared at England with superiority for a moment, almost smirking smugly. Almost.

"Of course I'll protect you, Feliciano," he stated.

England frowned and turned around. "Let's go" he grunted.

…–…–…–…

"Grab the salt, Ludwig," England ordered the moment they stepped through the entrance. "We might need it."

"Salt?" Germany frowned, but since he had no knowledge of how these things went, he nodded despite his disbelief.

"Ve~ and try not to touch anything else in the kitchen~ Arthur's cooking is truly something else!"

England flushed crimson and poked Italy's side. Italy giggled and poked him back, making England smile despite himself.

Disgusted, Germany hurried left where England was pointing.

"All this closeness… shouldn't be right… Feliciano and _I_ should be–" Germany's grumbling fell into silence the moment he stepped into the kitchen, mouth snapping open.

The kitchen was a complete mess.

There were spoons and utensils scattered everywhere, and the floor was completely covered with flour; the walls looked sticky and greasy, almost as if someone had splashed them with eggs and oil, and the table was covered with remains of something coloured blue and pink.

Bright blue and pink. Probably neon.

Germany's insides clenched in pain and his fingers twitched.

'_So dirty…'_

He looked around, trying to locate the salt, and grabbed the pack as his eyes continued shifting everywhere in the kitchen. What the hell had England been doing in there? Why did he leave everything so messy and dirty?

Germany didn't even realise he was cleaning the table with a cloth until he was halfway through, his brain filled with images of how he should point this out to Italy so that the Nation would realise Germany was definitely better at these things.

Snapping out of it, Germany backed away from the table, throwing the cloth on the floor… then kneeling to pick it up, placing it on the table instead.

"Ludwig?" Italy peered from the door, wondering why the German Nation was taking so much for a bit of salt, and froze, staring at the mess. "_Santo cielo_!"

"Oi, Feli, is there something– _bloody hell_ my kitchen!"

Italy pressed his hands on England's mouth to block the curses that were trying to come out, and shook his head. "Shhhh! There's no need to yell!" then he turned towards Germany "Ludwig~ it's not the time to clean!"

Germany flushed crimson and dropped the sponge in the sin with the expression of a cat caught licking some cream.

"My poor kitchen! It'll take me hours to cleanse it up! The _hell_ is this?"

Italy picked some of the blue and pink substance with a finger and carefully licked it. His expression turned unreadable. "That's… icing".

England's face turned ghostly white. "A–_Alfred_? Why would he want to cook a cake–"

"Ve~ I don't know… maybe he thinks he'll get you with a cake?"

"… that's preposterous! I always disliked his food!"

"The icing is yummy, though… unlike your own attempts at sweets".

"S–shut up!"

"Ve~ get the salt and let's get out of– _Ludwig_! I said _stop_ cleaning, ve!"

Germany dropped the spoons into the sink and coughed into his hand, embarrassed.

Checking the entire floor was useless, as America was nowhere to be found. The three returned to the entrance, and England pointed upstairs, sighing.

"Maybe we should check the second floor now".

"Ve~ I'm starting to get hungry now…"

"We'll eat when everything returned to normality, Feli".

"Ve~"

The staircase cracked under their footsteps, and Germany inwardly cringed, shaking his head and looking around to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon. If England wasn't lying and they were going to have an America with Belarus' tendencies, things could get pretty nasty, pretty soon.

The first room they got in was empty, and so was the second.

The corridor was completely silent around them. Italy shivered, then he sniffed the air, his expression turning to one of hunger.

"I smell something yummy~"

England didn't even have the time to make him stop –Italy rushed forwards, pushing the door on the end of the corridor open wide.

England's bedroom.

For a moment, Italy blinked, then turned to the side, staring at England with a blank look. England and Germany glanced at each other, perplexed, and then joined the Italian Nation, peering into the bedroom.

"Iggy~ I've been waiting for you!"

America was sitting on the bed with a cake placed in front of him –a hamburger-shaped cake– and the moment he looked up at the Englishman, he smiled. England shivered, the sight was creeping him out.

"A–Alfred!" England screeched, clearing his throat. The presence of Germany and Italy was kind of reassuring, so he didn't run away screaming. Yet. "The hell are you–"

"I made this for you, Artie! I thought you would like a cake made by me for our wedding…"

"There is _not_ going to be a wedding, Alfred! Stop this idiocy now!"

"Oh, but why are you saying this? Let's become one, _IggyIggy_…" America pouted.

"N–never!"

In the meanwhile, Italy had finally managed to get over his shock, and was slowly sliding into the bedroom, eyes fixed on America and his cake; holding his wand where America wouldn't be able to see it, he got close enough to the bed and gulped down his uneasiness.

If America was so smitten over England right now, it meant it was safe enough of him to…

"Ve~ the cake looks so yummy~"

With a silly expression, Italy leaned forwards and coated a finger with some of the blue icing, bringing it to his mouth.

The taste wasn't that bad for a cake made by America, of all people, so his gourmet stomach was spared the pain.

Quickly enough that no one noticed it, he waved his wand behind his back. The tip burned with light for a split second, then it vanished.

America turned his eyes to him, glaring at him, but Italy simply smiled, trying to keep his expression as non–threatening and innocuous as possible.

"Feliciano!" Germany tried to step into the room, but America glared at him.

"Why did you bring those people with you, Iggy? Oh! Are those our wedding best men? Feliciano, Ludwig! You're not trying to stop the wedding, are you?"

"Alfred! Stop this madness this instant!" feeling utterly silly, Germany straightened his back and stepped forwards, relieved when Italy ran behind him for protection.

"That means you're my rival! I won't let you keep Iggy away from me!" with a growl, America grabbed the cake in one hand and got down from the bed.

"Bollocks, Alfred!"

"Arthur, please, try not to worsen your condition…" Germany commented, not daring to look away from America.

Italy looked around, searching for a mirror, and was about to shift towards it that things went tumbling down.

"Let's get _married_, IggyIggy! Let this cake be the symbol of our eternal union!"

With that, America pounced.

Germany pushed Italy down and followed him, covering the lither body with his own to protect him, but America simply jumped over them, eyes fixed on England, whose eyes turned as wide as plates and he ran down the corridor, screaming for his life.

America followed him.

"Ve! Arthur!" Italy squirmed out from underneath Germany and pouted. "Let's go, Ludwig! We have to help Arthur!"

Germany groaned, wondering if he was still in time to renounce, then followed the panicked Italy out of the bedroom.

…–…–…–…

"You don't have to be this mean," America pouted, shrugging. "It's just that me and Iggy are made for each other!"

Germany cleared his throat, still holding America by his shoulders. England and Italy were gone in the next room to speak up about something, and the Italian nation had asked Germany to take an eye on America.

They had chased him down through England's house for almost one hour, finally finding England cowering in the attic, behind a huge trunk and a rack of old Victorian clothes, with America trying to make him wear one to re–enact something Germany had preferred not asking.

"Are you calmer now, Alfred?" he asked roughly.

"Yes, yes, you can let me go now, jeez. Sorry!"

With a sigh, Germany let go of America's shoulders, and watched him warily as he sat down, tinkering with a piece of the cake that had managed to survive the running around.

"He'll get it, don't worry," he hummed smiling up at the German. "I'll convince you to be my best man, Ludwig!"

Germany's cheeks flushed, and he refused to answer, peering at where Italy and England were discussing with a frown.

"So you felt something?" England looked in hope at Italy, who was humming, twirling his wand around. "What did you do?"

"It's disconnected, ve~" Italy pointed at America, and England turned around, watching him warily. "There's a blue aura that hovers around his head, and it… uh, it hums! But we can push it back where it belongs, I think".

"It is strange to admit it, but… I'll be relieved when Alfred gets his attitude back," England commented happily, grabbing Italy's hands in his own. "Fix him, Feli!"

"Uh~ but we need Natalia here too~"

"Ah? What do you mean?"

"We have to…" Italy made a waving motion from left to right, smiling, then "and then we have to…" he made the same move, this time from right to left. "And they'll be fine~ but they have to be in the same room!"

"Hmmm… it won't be a problem, if Natalia has Alfred's attitude, I guess…" England tapped his finger on his chin. "We should go and get her as fast as possible…"

Italy nodded happily and took a step back, waving at Germany, "ve~ Ludwig~ we have to go now!"

"Uh… Feliciano, what about…" Germany tilted his head towards America, but Italy clearly didn't get it, because he kept smiling. "Alfred…" he mouthed, still pointing at the American Nation with his head.

"Where are you going?" America asked, reaching forwards to grab England's arm. "Is it something funny?"

The Englishman recoiled a bit, but couldn't push him away.

"We're going to see Ivan, ve~" Italy answered, putting his wand away. Germany didn't even _know_ he had a wand.

"What? Arthur is going to see Ivan?" something flashed in America's eyes. "You want to see him, and not me?"

"Uh… Alfred…"

"I'm just worried that something might happen to you… or is it that you prefer Ivan to me, Iggy? Is that it? Should I go and erase this obstacle to our relationship?" America's eyes narrowed in anger, and he cracked his knuckles, sneering. "I guess Ivan and I always had to solve things with violence…"

Italy let out a squeal as America extracted a gun, and England grunted. "Stop this!"

"Only if you don't go to Ivan's! Are you cheating on me, Artie? Are you?"

England swallowed and glanced at Italy, who tilted his head with a frown.

"Arthur will stay with you, ve~" he decided.

"What?" England and Germany looked at him with wide eyes, whilst America purred in satisfaction.

"I knew you were on my side, Feliciano~" America held Italy in his arms and hugged him.

"V–ve~"

England grunted, and America dropped Italy against Germany, holding the Englishman's chin into his fingers "don't worry, Artie, I'll take care of you, and you will _forget_ all about Ivan! You'll be safer with me than with him~"

"Get your hands away from me! Feli! You can't really leave me here with _him_!"

Italy gently patted England's shoulder, and it was only because America knew the Italian nation was on his side that he did not point his gun at him for that.

"Ve~ he doesn't seem too bad if you're at his side… just…" with a shrug, he leaned closer and lowered his tone "indulge him, ok?"

"What?"

"Come on, Ludwig, let's go!" tugging at Germany's sleeve, Italy waved cheerfully at England, who squealed when America pulled him against his chest.

"Uh… are you sure we should leave him with…" Germany paused, then watched Italy. Then England. Then he moved his calculating eyes to America, and nodded. "We'll be back soon, Arthur" he assured.

"No, wait a bloody moment! Feliciano! Ludwig! You can't leave me with him! Can't you see? He's crazy, he's–"

"_Ciao_~"

Italy disappeared out of the room, followed by a quite more satisfied than before Germany, and England's outstretched arm fell to his side. He'd flew to Italy to be helped, and there he was again, in the arms of America, despite all he'd done to run away.

That bloody _sucked_.

"Let's spend some time together now, Iggy! I still have some cake remaining!"

England turned around, and took a deep breath; America was staring at him, but was strangely calm. He didn't look crazed like before. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** ok, so that was it. Did you like it? Would you like more? If you wish, please comment, you'll make me really happy :3 there might be some hints at Canada/America in the future only for the purpose of crack, I hope you readers don't mind it too much.

_Ho capito (Italian)_ – I understand

_Santo Cielo (Italian)_ – Good Grief

_Ciao (Italian) –_ Bye!


End file.
